LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap. Copyriolit No. 

Shelf .JX-2^- k 
I90C 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Books by Anna J, Granniss. 

SKIPPED STITCHES, 

WITH SONG 

OLD RED CRADLE. 
56 pages, 16mo. Cloth Binding. 50 cents. 

SEVEKTH THOUSAND. 

"Throughout the book there are evidences of genuine 
XKietic feeling, of true insight, and here and there is a touch 
of lyric henuty.'"— Atlantic Monthly. 

" For genuine, spontaneous, homely human feeling, for the 
gift of rhythm, and for intuitive poetic exj>ression, the author 
has moreof the real thing than one-half the cultured techni- 
cists who are popular as verse-makers. — Hartford Courant. 

SANDWORT J 

POEMS OF NATURE. 

60 pages, lOmo. Cloth. With illustrations. 50 cents. 

FOURTH THOUSAND. 

" This little volum.e of verse, perfectly simple and unpre- 
tentious, has the genuine ring."— /ZarZ/orcZ Times. 

"Genuineness and simplicity seem to be marks of the 
author's talent."— ifnr(/brd Courant. 

SPEEDWELL; 

OK 

THE FLOWER OF ST'. VERONICA. 

The New Collection of Verse. 

64 pages, 16mo. Cloth Binding, Embossed Cover. 50 cents. 

All Bookstores, or ordered direct from author, PlaiiiviUe, Conn. 



SPEEDWELL 

OR 

THE FLOWER OF SAINT VERONICA 

Veronica Virginica (Speedwell.) Name of doubtful derivation ; perhaps the 
flower of St. Veronica. — Gray's Manual. 

VERSES 

—BY— 

ANNA J.'gRANNISS 

WITH A PREFACE IJY 

The Rev. W. Garrett Horder 

Editor ot "The Treasury of American Sacred Song." 



KEENE, N. H. : 

PRESS OF DARLING &, COMPANY, 

inoo. 



1 



75609 

Library of Congress- 

Iwo Copies Received i 
NOV 141900 1 

Copyright oiUry 

SECOND COPY 

Oeiivwcd to 

ORDER D1V;S!0N 

MOV 23 1900 



/9# a 



Copyriglit 1900, 
by Akna J. Gea-NNIss. 

All rights reserved. 



TO UY FRIKXDP. 



INDEX, 

TttE Kl/)WKK OK SaIKT VkIM>KICA . y 

SwEifT Taoi'CHt* or Thee. . . n 

huauVoLD 12 

Swi.N<; IJack Ubioht Gatbs jj3 

iiirr OF VAliilK^ 14 

i- AITM .■-.•,, •.,,..,,.,,.,,,,,,,,.,,, 14 

JiEAlTinX TWJREAIXJ OF <aOI.D 1/, 

God ist THE &OCJ.- . m 

HoFE , , . i^ 

A lATTLK <imyEL rOH EVKHY Day ,.„,,,.,, ly 

•HY THE }^fKI^'0 CaME LaTK... >,.,,.,..... ^0 

i50«K0»''s Doweb - . -^i 

IyEA»>'!Ky TO KE!*-! -^i 

UoCK-BOlMJ -^f 

Ik Kcupse 2*> 

Gbace Pbe-emikent , .....,,,,,,, ify 

Kkkp the IJeioht Su*e Ov jjO 

The Ihvisj^iBLE Wmeeu . 31 
A Ki<;ht in Jcxe ,...,..,.,.,,,,,, ,,,, ,.,.-,..,,.,,,, 33 

A fcl'TTEKiCTP'S ]>KEAIf g| 

ly TB£ OOLUMBIMRS... . ;j((j 

Al.•Tl•M^■ WiNj> ..,..,..,.,,...,,,,,„,. ^; 

WjNTEJK ......,,...., ,.,, ;^ 

Special Uehtioh ..„.,,.„... 4^) 

To A 1>EA» Bibd jy October...... *...,,,..,. , 41 

A LA}f£»'T ,.....,,,,.„ ,.... 42 

An Imekval ..,..,.,.,,,,.. ....„.,.. ,,..,..,,.,,,.,,.. 44 



Our God Js Lord of the Harvest 46 

The Work in Hand 17 

A Rest Remaineth 49 

This Spring 50 

When Sleep Overtakes 52 

In the Chrysalis 54 

Stars of Faith 54 

The Oasis 55 

A Secret 56 

My Minstrel 57 

A Little World Apart 59 

Leaves in Winter 60 

From the Grass 61 

Night 62 

A Prayer 64 



PREFACE 

By W. GARRETT HORDER 

Editx^r of "The Treasury of American Sacred Song," "The Poet's Bible," 
" Worsliip-Song," Author of " The Silent Voice," " The Supreme Argu- 
ment for Christianity," &c., &c. 

A writer of verse whose two tiny volumes have reached 
a circulation of twelve thousand copies — a rare thing 
save for the great masters of song — seems to me to need 
no introduction to the public, 

I cannot however refuse the request of Miss Granniss 
to preface her forthcoming volume, " Speedwell," with a 
few words. 

My acquaintance with the verse of Miss Granniss arose 
on this wise : When I was engaged in editing ' ' The 
Treasury of American Sacred Song," Mrs. Tileston — 
whose taste as an editor of verse is known on both sides 
of the Atlantic — was good enough to send me such 
works from American pens as contained verse which fell 
within the range of that volume. Among these, " Skipped 
Stitches" was included. Two poems in that volume — 



"The Saints' Messenger" and "My Guest " — seemed 
both to the Rev. Canon Wilton who was my colleague 
editor, and to myself, so distinctive, and marked by such 
a reality of feeling, that we decided to include them in a 
collection whose purpose was to present the finest speci- 
mens of sacred verse from American sources. That our 
judgment in relation to these poems was not a fancy, is 
shown by the fact that only a few days ago a request 
reached the publishers of the " Treasury" from the wife 
of one of the best known of British writers, saying how 
deeply her husband had been touched by these poems, 
and asking where a copy of ''Skipped Stitches" could 
be obtained. 

It IS difficult to say exactly wherein the charm of the 
verse of Miss Granniss consists. To the critical eye her 
work is not without fault of technique. It would be sur- 
prising if it were not so in the case of one whose oppor- 
tunities of early culture were so limited ; but in spite of 
these faults, there is such a freshness of approach to 
familiar subjects, such a childlike delight in natural 
objects, such genuineness of feeling, such a frank and 
unforced utterance alike on the simplest and loftiest 



themes, that her verse, in spite of the occasional blem- 
ishes, gives delight even to the more cultured. 

I have looked over the advance sheets of the present 
little volume and find it marked by the same charac- 
teristics as its predecessors — "Skipped Stitches" and 
" Sandwort;" and if any words of mine can open for it 
a still larger circle in America, and introduce it to lovers 
of verse in England, I shall be thankful that I wrote this 
short preface. 

Ealing, London W. 

Sept. 7, 1900. 



THE FLOWER OF SAINT VERONICA. 

Among the sacred legends which are ours, 
We find that of Veronica, the saint, 

Who, seeing Christ surrounded by the powers 
Of wickedness, and yet without complaint 

Bearing His cross, pressed forward to his side. 
And seeing then His countenance of pain. 

Drew forth her handkerchief, and gently dried 
The drops of anguish which stood out like rain. 

For this compassion, a Divine reward 
Sweet and mysterious was granted her ; 

The clotli retained the impress of her Lord — 
Known ever after as Veronica. 

Perhaps the joy of ministry approved, 

Which fills the hearts of any who have knelt, 

And ministered to suffering ones beloved, 
Is something like the joy she must have felt 1 

(9) 



We have the legend, and its lesson sweet 

Is made so plain that they who will may learn, 

Human compassion in the heart will meet, 
Here or hereafter, some Divine return. 

Linked with the mystic name we find a flower, 
Though how it came to be , none may aver ; 

Yet, true it is, that in some by-gone hour, 
A plant was strangely named Veronica. 

It is not classed as rare, nor found alone 

In distant land where lived that gentle saint ; 

It is our common speedwell, and is known 
By any who with flowers are well acquaint. 

But it is highly honored of the flowers ; 

Wearing a name above the common-place — 
Would that the sweet saint's spirit govern ours, 

That we might wear compassion as a grace 1 

Even in these, our common earthly lives, 
Among the sinful, suffering, and oppressed, 

Love be the tender impulse which survives. 
Till on our hearts Christ's image is impressed. 



(10) 



SWEET THOUGHTS OF THEE. 

Give me sweet thoughts of Thee, 

Saviour, of Thee; 
Through weary nights of pain, 

Comfort Thou me. 
In midst of my distress, 
Come in Thy tenderness, 
And let my soul possess 

Sweet thoughts of Thee 1 

While some, in peaceful rest, 

Dream care away, 
I, in my weariness, 

Long for the day ; 
Turn Thou the dark to light, 
Put every doubt to flight. 
To trust Thee day or night, 

Help me, I pray I 

Thou too didst suffer pain, 

Know grief and loss ; 
And sinless as Thou art 

Didst bear Thy cross ; 
Why should I shrink from mine ? 
When I remember Thine, 
My soul cannot repine, 

Ease seems but dross. 

(11) 



Give mc sweet llioiights of Thee, 

Saviour, of 'J'hee, 
Through coming (hiys and niglils, 

Strengthen Thou n)c ; 
Till into endless day 
My spirit hnds its way ; 
Give me while here I stay, 

Sweet thoughts of Thee. 



BLIND-FOLD. 

I SAW a little child with bnndaged eyes, 
Tut uj) its hands to feel its mother's face; 

She bent, and took the tender groping palms, 
And pressed them to her lips a little space. 

I know a soul made Mind by its desires, 

And yel its faith keeps feeling for God's face- 

Bend down, O Mighty Love, and let that faith 
Gne little monuait touch Thy lips of (aace. 



(12) 



SWING BACK BRICxHT GATES. 

Swing back bright gates ! 
Beautiful gates swing open wide, 

So I can see into heaven ; 
I long to see into tliat happy place, 
I long to look in each loved one's face. 
For here, they suffered, and toiled, and cried, 
I want to see them with tears all dried, 
I will be content my time to bide 
Outside the beautiful gates. 
Swing back bright gates. 
Beautiful gates swing open wide, 
So I can see into heaven ! 

Swing back bright gates ! 
Beautiful gates so fair and tall, 
I fain would sec into heaven ; 
I want a glimpse of my promised rest, 
I too am weary, and sore oppressed; 
My faith is growing so weak and small, 
I tremble with fear lest I shall fall, 
And never come to my rest at all 
Inside the beautiful gates. 
Swing back bright gates. 
Beautiful gates so fair and tall, 
I fain would see into heaven 1 

(13) 



A GIFT OF DAISIES. 

My little friends have made me very glad, 
In bringing me fresh daisies from the field ; 

A Sony one or two, were all I had 

I could not hope for such a goodiy yield. 

From childhood's hands, I take, and make the gift, 
The happy medium, through which to reach 

My own brief childhood, and once more uplift 
My grateful wonder, ignorant of speech 

In which my gratitude I would express, 

To Him, who scatters wide the daisies' seeds, 

And in the children's hearts plants tenderness, 
WTiich buds, and blossoms into lovely deeds. 

Thank you my little friends I Though summer close. 
And these be all my share of its sweet store, 

I seem possessed of every flower which grows, 
Since you have brought the daisies to my door. 



FAITH. 

Faith finds her path through many a starless night ; 

And without wonder, meets the coming dawn — 
With confidence she journeys toward the light. 

And as she goes, the darkness is withdrawn. 

(14) 



BEAUTIFUL THREADS OF GOLD. 

Weaving into a work-a-day life, 

Beautiful threads of gold ! 
A thread of joy, with a strand of strife. 

And ever the hands which hold 
May fashion them into patterns rare, 
Or designs of beauty, new and fair. 
Till the Master-weaver finds them there, 

In beautiful threads of gold. 

Weaving them in with a patient hand, 

Beautiful threads of gold ! 
Filling them in as the Master planned 

When He laid life's somber fold. 
Weaving them in with homeliest cares, 
Over some burden another bears — 
Rejoice that the Master-weaver spares 

Some beautiful threads of gold. 

Weaving them in with the hopes and fears, 

Beautiful threads of gold I 
Brighter the gold of the thread appears, 

As the web of life grows old. 
Weaving them in with a smile and song, 
Such wonderful threads, so fine and strong, 
Under the good, and over the wrong. 

Weave beautiful threads of gold. 

(15) 



Weaving them in with a watchful eye, 

Beautiful threads of gold 1 
To shine across where the shadows lie, 

When the web is all unrolled. 
Weaving them in, when the Master's call 
Bids the bright threads break; the shuttle fall, 
Till His own hand gently joins them all 

To threads of a brighter gold. 



GOD IN THE SOUL. 

When all the joy of living has gone out, 
Its faiUng flame, by earth-winds blown about, 
Until it wanes, and wavers, and is gone. 
The oil exhausted which it fed upon — 
Seek not the consolations of mankind, 
Nor trust to remedies the world may find ; 
Be like a little child let out to play — 
Yield up all doubtful wisdom for a day, 
And give the Hand Invisible your own. 
Then let It lead you where It will, alone. 
So shall you find a joy such as endures, 
Led thither by the strong Hand holding yours. 



(16) 



When all the sweet enthusiasms die, 

Leaving the springs of feeling dead and dry, 

Ask not the world a reason for their death. 

Nor seek to waken them by your own breath ; 

Neither sit down in sorrow and despair, 

To do a penance in the form of prayer — 

Think not again the wells of Life to fill, 

By any conscious act of your own will ; 

Retire within the silence of your soul, 

And let God's Spirit enter, and control. 

The springs of feeling which you thought were stilled. 

Shall so be deepened, sweetened, and refilled. 

Mourn not the lost ideals of your youth, 
When sacrificed in honor of the Truth ; 
Surrender every idol which you find, 
Wearing a theory to cheat the blind — 
Take patiently results of broken laws. 
So learning your relation to the Cause ; 
Not with loud protest, but with quiet mind, 
Accept the discipline, and task assigned — 
Grow from within, nor count that hour as waste, 
Spent in the Presence which admits no haste. 
So shall you come to feel God in the soul, 
And know of all the Creeds, this is the whole. 



(17) 



HOPE. 

Not even Hope, can always soar and sing; 
Sometimes she needs must rest a willing wing, 
And wait in midst of her glad caroling. 

Faint not, dear heart, though she rest overnight — 
Her wings are swifter than the wings of light. 
They're gaining strength for more enduring flight. 

Fret not because her voice is sometimes still ; 
It may be catching some new lilt or trill ; 
She'll sing again, all of her own sweet will. 

Perhaps when worn with pain, in darkened room, 
Denied the light, the beauty and the bloom, 
You'll see a little rift within the gloom ; 

Then hear a stir, as of unfolding wings ; 

And low sweet notes, as one who tries the strings 

In tender prelude, just before he sings. 

And wakened Hope, grown vigorous and strong, 
Will then surprise the silence with a song — 
Keep a brave heart, Hope never slumbers long. 



(18) 



LITTLE GOSPEL FOR EVERY DAY. 

There is a story old and sweet, 

The sweeter for the telling, 
For it brings the wanderer's feet 

Home to his father's dwelling. 
Whisper it to someone every day 1 

There is a song of happy cheer, 
Which half the world is singing : 

In lonely hearts that list to hear, 
It sets the joy bells ringing. 
Sing so some will hear it every day 1 

There is a tender prayer to say, 

Said in the ages olden, 
And babes are lisping it to-day, 

For every word is golden. 
Who does not say, " Our Father," every day? 

And there is service sweet to do, 

For in the cheerful doing 
It comes to be a pleasure too, 

An inward joy renewing. 
Help some burdened brother every day I 

There is a life, behold how fair ! 

Better than earthly glory ; 
A life of service, song and prayer, 

Telling the sweet old story — 

Living the Christ-life truly, every day. 
(19) 



WHY THE SPRING CAME LATE. 

I WHISPERED to Nature this time last year, 
Though ever so softly, so none could hear — 
" I just want to see how the v/ild things grow ; 
If you please, next time let the spring come slow, 
So I can see the new grass when it starts. 
See the gold poured into the daisies' hearts. 
And I want to feel the first thrill and stir 
At the roots of things ; and to hear the pur 
Of the pussy-willows when waking up ; 
See the gloss laid on to the butter-cup. 
And I'd like to get a start of the bees. 
When the next buds burst on the locust trees ; 
They take out the sweets, and they begin 
Just before I find how the sweets get in ; 
Then I wish to see, just once if I may. 
When the color comes to the hawthorn spray I " 
And Nature she heard me, or seemed to do, 
And as much as said, " I will humor you! " 

(20) 



So the spring comes late to convenience me, 
And I'm trying ever so hard to see; 
But already I've missed a good many things, 
Just as I did in the earlier springs. 
You see, being mortal, I dine and sup. 
And the gloss came on to the butter-cup, 
Just while I was taking my little bite ; 
Then, I've been accustomed to sleep at night, 
And while I was sleeping the color came. 
Yes, and left the white hawthorn all aflame. 
Perhaps Nature tried to accommodate, 
But I guess she knew I would look too late. 



SORROW'S DOWER. 

" There is in man a higher than happiness ; he can do without happi- 
ness, and instead thereof find blessedness."— Gcorgre Eliot. 

When the sun went dovv^n the west, 

Leaving earth and sky aglow, 
Happy birdlings sought their nest. 

And were resting hours ago. 

But I cannot seek my rest. 

For my Heart is not at home — 

Shall I stay, or go in quest ? 

Tell me, tell me, why hearts roam I 

(21) 



Pity, standing by my side, 

Answered, " Whither would you go ? 
Seek not, for the world is wide. 

And its ways you do not know. 

" Sorrow lately passed this way, 
With her two eyes drowned in tears. 

She drew near your gate to-day, 
Travelling thitherward for years. 

" She came slowly, weeping sore, 
Looking neither left nor right ; 

Question of your Heart no more, 
Haply they have met to-night." 

O sweet Pity, say not so. 

For my Heart is all untaught 

How (in ways the wise may know) 
To meet Sorrow as it ought. 

Happiness shall go in quest ; 

She knows all the pleasant ways 
Where my Heart and she for rest, 

Wandered hand in hand for days. 

Love and I will sit and wait — 

In a time, or less, or more, 
There came slowly tlirough the gate, 

Up the walk, and to the door, 

(22) 



Sorrow, leaning on my Heart — 

" Hush 1 " with streaming eyes they said, 
*' We twain nevermore can part, 

We have met and we are wed I 

" Happiness returns no more, 
If we make this place our home^ 

But if Love unlatch the door, 
Blessedness, instead, will come. 

" This sweet gift had never been, 
But for these, our mingled tears ; 

Where with us she enters in. 

She remains through all the years." 

Love came swiftly to my side. 

Whispered softly in my ear, 
" Will you let them here abide ? " 

*' Yes," I said, and they are here. 



LEARNING TO REST. 

" When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid : yea, thou shalt 
lie down and thy sleep shall be sweet."— Prov. S : Zit. 

I've been to sleep at night, with heart and mind 
Burdened with dismal fears for those I love. 

And wakened in the morning light, to find 
Their smiling faces bending mine above. 

(23) 



My fears for them had not been reaHzed, 

And speaking words of courage and of cheer, 

They asked me how my fooUsh heart devised 
Such strange, unreal forms of dread and fear. 

I've set about my work, with my whole soul 

Burdened with doubt of what God's will might be ; 

Have even questioned if He would control 
The small affairs w^hich mean so much to me. 

Then as my tasks are finished while by while, 
And often crowned with undeserved success, 

I seem to hear Him say, with His own smile, 

' * How could you doubt it was My will to bless ? " 

So I am being taught to take each day, 
Giving its tasks the best that in me is, 

Leaving success or failure, either way 

With Him who holds my life secure in His. 

I'm learning that my nights are meant for rest. 
That those I love are safe within the keep 

Of Him who orders all things for the best. 
That without fear I may lie down and sleep. 



(24^ 



ROCK-BOUND. 

Brave little flower — I wonder at it so ! 
I've seen its favored sisters as they grow 
In cultured beauty, where a gardener's care 
Helps win for them the loveliness they wear ; 
Here, from a crevice in a lonely rock. 
These tiny petals graciously unlock, 
Content to bloom unnoticed and unknown, 
Their strange environment unyielding stone. 
A two-fold text does this wee exile teach ; 
It makes the most of all that comes in reach, 
And making so, the cleft it nestles in 
Lovely and fair, just for its having been. 
A few small grains of sand, and lo ! — it grew, 
And finds enough its daily share of dew ; 
Each gift God sends, it takes and treasures up, 
And offers back to Him in its small cup. 
I am rebuked of this wise little flower ; 
I will take heed, repentant from this hour; 
I'll take the gifts God sends me, more or less, 
And if I may, so take them as to bless 
All such as come, by sorrow, pain, or strife, 
Within the narrow boundaries of my life. 

(25) 



I will not pluck the flower — it were a grief, 

A sacrilege, to mar its lightest leaf; 

After to-day, perhaps its hidden seed 

Will bless another soul, like mine — in need. 

It came not here by chance or accident ; 

It was a thought, a beautiful intent — 

Bounded on either side by flinty stone, 

God set it here, and bid it bloom alone ; 

Then gently led me, drew me here to see 

The sweet life-lesson he had set for me. 

Upon the rock I bow my head and pray. 

Not that my hindering walls dissolve away. 

But that I find a crevice, hov/e'er dim, 

Through which the light may draw me up to Him ; 

And that these very walls which shut me in, 

Be less unlovely for my having been. 

This little flower has taught m.e how to live ; 

How sweet it is to take, and taking, give. 

Here do I hold my life, an empty cup. 

That at each dew-fall, God may fill it up. 

IN ECLIPSE. 

I WAS wrapped in a sudden glory ; 

Made half blind by a flood of sun, 
Then as suddenly the light went out 

And the glorious day was done. 

(26) 



Such a day 1 And it had no twilight, 
For the sun it had not gone down ; 

It W'ent out in tlie high mid-heaven, 
And the unwitting Httle town 

Went on v/ith its toil, and its traffic, 
Other toilers it seemed could see, 

I knew 'twas only my light had failed, 
That the darkness was just for me ; 

And I stood with empty arms outstretched, 
And I stood with my silent lips, 

And knew, as only my soul could know, 
It was my life that w^as in eclipse. 

And I knew there could be no sunrise, 

For the sun it had never set ; 
It had failed, and in total darkness 

The horizon and zenith met. 

I thought — and at last I remembered 
What had lighted my world before 

There had shone this transient radiance, 
I remembered, I say, and more, 

For I prayed to the Christ in heaven, 
To the Source of all love and light, 

To send a ray from the heart Divine, 
To shine over against my night. 

(27) 



And to show unto me its dangers, 
And- 1 prayed Him to let me see, 

The face, loved and known the longest, 
And the duties laid nearest me. 

And to add all the joy of doing 
To the gladness of service done. 

And to let my life be shone upon 
By heaven's never-failing Sun. 

And the pitying Christ will answer, 
For the pitiful Christ will hear. 

And the near, will be nearer always. 
And the dear will become more dear ; 

While I stand in affliction's furnace. 
Until freed from all selfish dross ; 

Till I find in renunciation. 

Heaven sweeter for earthly loss. 

Still I pray to the Christ in Heaven, 
To the pitiful Christ I pray, 

And sometime from its test of darkness. 
My tried soul will come forth for aye. 



(28) 



GRACE PRE-EMINENT. 

There is not joy enough in all the world, 

In all the world to-day, 
To crowd the form of Sorrow from a heart 

Where it is wont to stay. 

Nor has there music sweet enough been found 

In all the symphonies, 
To charm away the anguish which is born 

Of poisoned memories. 

There is not life enough in pulsing hearts, 

To furnish clay a breath ; 
Nor strength enough, tho' all the world took hold 

To stay the hand of Death. 

Nor love enough, tho' for it some have died. 

Died smiling at their fate. 
And yet, alas, there is not love enough 

To rid the world of hate. 

There is not stainless purity enough 

Though one could claim the whole. 

To hide from God and its own consciousness, 
A scar upon the soul. 

But there is Grace which once came down from heav'n 

In virtues all impearled, 
Life, sweetness, joy, strength, purity and love 

Enough to save the world. 



KEEP THE BRIGHT SIDE OUT. 

Talk about the sunny days 
If the clouds are in the sky ; 

Think about the blooming ways 
When the dead leaves flutter by. 

Do the kindly, helpful thing, 
Let the selfish pleasures go, 

And within your heart will sing- 
Something sweeter than you know. 

Keep the blessings at the fore, 
Press the murmurs back awhile. 

Other hearts are trouble-sore. 

Needing cheerful word and smile. 

Look for what is best in all. 

Charity has veiled eyes, 
Yet her glance is quick to fall 

Where a hidden virtue lies. 

Talk of health and happy things. 
Let your woes be slow of speech ; 

Life will shortly spread its wings 
For a flight beyond their reach. 

Tell about the sunny days. 
And before you are half done, 

Somewhere in the common ways, 

Joy will greet you in the sun. 

(30) 



THE INVISIBLE WHEELS. 

On days when the wheels go round, and round. 
Or days when the wheels hold still, 

We have the gift of the day itself, 
To be used for good or ill. 

We have the gift of the day itself, 

And never the sun goes down, 
But we've had our opportunity, 

To win, or to lose, a crown. 

For there is a crown to lose or win. 

And ever a choice to make, 
On the side of right, or side of wTong, 

Is a part to shun, or take. 

And v/hether tlie wheels go round and round, 

Or whether the wheels are still. 
There is the day with its record-blank, 

To be filled v/ith good or ill. 

In idle days when the wheels are still. 

And the furnace fires are out ; 
WTien confusion reigns in minds of men, 

And the world is filled with doubt ; 

Though the wheels of industry be clogged, 

Without motion, pulse, or sound, 
Invisible wheels of the universe 

Go steadily rovmd and round. 

(31) 



Invisible wheels go round and round, 

And they never slack nor sleep ; 
The furnace fires of Eternal Love, 

The Eternal Love will keep. 

Oh, and could this troubled world of ours, 

So worn with its double strife, 
Once feel the glow of a common love, 

In touch with the Life of life. 

Then the reign of selfishness and greed 

In the hearts of men would cease. 
And the sun would rise, and shine, and set. 

Upon unity and peace. 

The bells would ring, and the wheels would turn, 
While Toil, with its brave, bright face. 

Would look again from the throbbing mills. 
Secure in its rightful place. 

Though men delay, or mistake, and strive, 

All unheeding sight or sound, 
In the furtherance of man's best good, 

Invisible wheels go round. 

Silent, invisible wheels of God, 

Which carry His own great plan, 
In their revolutions straighten out 

The tangled affairs of man. 

(32) 



A NIGHT IN JUNE. 

I've seen the fields with daisies just as white, 

An hundred times, and more ; 
I've seen the fair June skies with stars as bright, 
Yet it would seem on this delicious night, 

June never was before. 

The tall dark trees stand wrapped in leafy fold. 

And listen all night long ; 
The buttercups stand mute, and shyly hold 
.On slender stems, their chalices of gold. 

And wait, jrnd think no wrong. 

The thirsty grasses toward each other lean, 

And seem to dream and wait. 
And soon there comes a stepping o'er the green, 
A gentle stirring where all still had been — 

Who roams about so late ? 

It is the mist, with light gray sandals shod. 

Gently distilling dew ; 
She softly treads the violet-scented sod. 
And as she comes, the glad sweet grasses nod, 

" We were expecting you 1 " 

(83) 



The very air becomes with sounds and scents 

A fragrant melody — 
A world of life throbs under leafy tents, 
And in a thousand tongues its gladness vents, 

All keyed in harmony. 



A BUTTERCUP'S DREAM. 

A LITTLE seed clad in a common gown, 
Once lost itself, a long, long time ago ; 

Just where it fell, it nestled gladly down. 

And went to sleep, and never thought to grow. 

The moist earth held it very close indeed, 
Snows drifting over, hid it from the cold ; 

Silence and darkness served its every need. 
And kept the secret given them to hold. 

It never knew how long it slumbered there. 
Before it had a dream — ^wonders untold 1 

The little common gown it did not wear, 
But in its stead, a scalloped one of gold. 

It grew so full of wonder in its sleep. 

It stirred itself a little in the dream. 
Then something happened — would the gladness keep? 

The dark was broken by a sunny gleam, 

(34) 



Which seemed to whisper v/ith a soft caress, 
" I am the Light, I've come down after you ; 

You must wake up, you've been asleep I guess, 
And had a lovely dream that's coming true." 

Bursting with joy, the seed held up its face. 
Setting its tiny feet deep in the ground ; 

It shook its crumpled skirts with dainty grace. 
And stood up where it was, to look around. 

But it was very small, and when it tried, 

It could not see but just a little way. 
So hung its head, and mayhap would have died, 

Had not just then, a bright voice seemed to say: 

" I am the Rain, don't be afraid of me ! 

I saw you drooping as I crossed the sky ; 
I'll bathe your pretty eye so you can see, 

And help you to grow taller, by and by." 

Then sang another, dancing up in glee, 

" I am the Wind, I come from where I list; 

You are a baby buttercup I see, 

You must be rocked, you little dear, and kissed ! " 

And here it gave the little bud a shake — 
This is the v/ay the lovely dream is told, 

The seed at last had blossomed wide awake. 
And it had on a scalloped gown of gold. 

(35) 



IN THE COLUMBINES. 

Listen with me, and see if you can hear 

These faint intonings, neither bee, nor bird ; 

A gentle rhythmic measure, as though life 

Through veins minute, were making itself heard. 

Now scarcely breathe, but with your ear intent, 
Lean closer to these slender columbines ; 

So — do you catch it, regular, and slow ? 
It is the sound of growing in the vines I 



AUTUMN WIND. 

Oh, you cruel autumn wind, you, 
If I'd any way to bind you. 
Then you should not go on tearing 
These gay robes the trees are wearing 1 
Now what have the leaves been doing ? 
Have they failed in their reviewing ? 
Have they not done as you told them. 
That you shake them so, and scold them, 
That you scold them so, and shake them, 
Shake them so until you make them 
Really crimsom in their faces, 
Till the poor things lose their places ? 

(36) 



Don't you hear the old trees sighing, 
With their leaflets all a-crying ? 
Up from tiny buds they brought them — 
All the pretty leaf-ways taught them, 
Taught each wee green-tinted lisper 
A leaf -language it could whisper, 
Till the children playing under, 
Stop their play to hark and wonder — 
Wonder what the leaves are saying, 
Hark, then laugh and go on playing ; 
Laugh because the wee leaves near them. 
Talk so loud that they can hear them. 

Oh, you cruel autumn wind, you. 
If I ever hap to find you 
Wandering down some lonely hollow. 
With a golden-rod I'll follow ; 
When you're napping I'll surprise you, 
With my golden-rod chastise you. 
Oh, you cruel autumn wind, you ! 
I'll chastise and then I'll bind you, 
Bind you fast and leave you rueing 
All the mischief you've been doing. 
Oh, the little leaves behind you. 
How they'll laugh to see me bind you ! 



(37) 



WINTER. 

He is here, he has come in his coat of mail ; 
His breath is the frost, his tears are the hail. 
His voice is the voice of the shrieking winds, 
And his crime is the worst of mortal sins, — 
For his coming slays and his coming kills ; 
Not a flower has he left to fields or hills. 
And woe to the lamb that has missed the fold. 
And woe to the shivering poor and old ! 

His laugh is the roar of the mighty sea 
Leaping up its banks in a savage glee, 
And combing and tearing its own white locks 
On the cruel teeth of the jagged rocks. 
Through the blinding mist of the cold salt spray. 
The fishermen's wives peer out and pray. 
And woe to the mariner far at sea. 
Without a good hope for eternity ! 

The cold hand of winter grips like a vise ; 
His smile is the gleam of the sun on ice ; 
He drives in the chariot of the storm, 
On the black cloud-rack you may see his form ; 
His whip is a lash of the stinging sleet, 
And woe to the mortal with no retreat. 
While his keen eye searches every place 
For a crouching form or a half-starved face. 

(3S) 



His cloak is of ermine as soft as down ; 
It glitters with crystals from hem to crown, 
And hidden away 'neath its inmost fold, 
Unharmed by tempest, untouched by the cold. 
Beats the heart of Christmas — the love aglow 
Which v/as lighted two thousand years ago ; 
And Winter's stern lips break forth in the song 
Which the world has known and has loved so long. 

Though his frosty breath may blight and kill, 

New flowers will come to the field and hill. 

We will seek the lambs that have missed the fold, 

And tenderly cherish the poor and old. 

We'll pray for the mariner out at sea, 

That his anchor hold for eternity. 

We will bid our neighbors be of good cheer. 

For the heart of Christmas beats all the year 1 

It gives new life to the veins of spring ; 

It throbs through the measures the glad birds sing ; 

It sends the warm blood to the Summer's face, 

And gives unto Autumn her royal grace. 

But Winter, of all, is supremely blest, 

With that glowing heart in his rugged breast ; 

Men say he has ever been cold and wild. 

But he cradles the birthday of " The Child " 1 



(39) 



SPECIAL MENTION. 

I've been reading my Book of Letters, 

Penned ages ere I was born, 
But the words are just as new and sweet 

As if written to me this morn. 

And set down on the precious pages, 
Among other things good and true, 

I find, dear friends, to my great delight. 
Special mention is made of you. 

Here in the beautiful " Inasmuch " 
(Where our Saviour says tenderly) 

**As ye serve one of the least of Mine, 
Then have ye done it unto Me ! " 

And surely I am one of the least, 

While you've rendered me service sweet. 

In going errands of love for me, 
On the wings of your willing feet. 

And this record of special mention. 
Passing years cannot change or dim ; 

It is written for Eternity, 

With the services done for Him. 

And sometime in the courts of Glory, 
With the angels to hear and see, 

He will call back to your remembrance 
The sweet service you rendered me. 

(40) 



TO A DEAD BlPvD, IN OCTOBER. 

Dead ! Yes, shot thro' the heart — oh the pity ! 

Then ruthlessly left in the street — 
What great wrong had you done, my sweet birdie, 

That you lie here dead at my feet ? 

Nothing more than to sing through the summer, 

Flashing by on beautiful wings ; 
Must a bird then be shot down for flying, 

A blue-bird be killed if it sings ? 

You rejoiced in our bright autumn weather. 
With the blue haze wrapping the hills. 

So you hovered about the mown meadows. 
For a few more dips in the rills. 

But oh, why did you stay, my poor birdie ? 

You soon would have flown far away ; 
Now your pinions forever are folded, 

Some cruel man shot you to-day. 

Shoot a blue-bird — oh, shame on the hunter 1 

Far away fly nestlings and mate, 
And this morn I'd have begged you to linger, ; 

Now I grieve because you were late. 

I will tenderly smooth your bright plumage. 

And lay you here under the ferns, 
But there'll be a lost note in the chorus. 

When the flock from southland returns. 



A LAMENT. 

I SAW the first red-tinted leaf that lay, 

Or hung, upon a maple's robe of green ; 
Alas ! so soon has Autumn passed this way, 

Palette in hand, the ripe year's artist queen; 
Perhaps 'tvv^as in the last night's silent hush, 

She paused, v/hile taking notes for her gay scene, 
And shyly tried her new-mixed tints and brush, 

And left a dash of crimson on the green. 

I wondered if the leaf felt 'reft and strange, 

Or understood, and knew it meant decay : 
While musing on the mystery of change. 

The sun shut in and shone no more that day ; 
Someway it smote me like a sudden pain, 

And I v/as sadder all that afternoon, 
For what might be ere trees should leaf again — 

What might not be before another June ? 

I watched the leaves turn sere and brovv^n, then fall 

And drift in dreary piles along the street ; 
Poor driven things, they clung to fence and wall, 

And made a mournful music under feet ; 
I closed my eyes to them, and all decay. 

But I could hear them rustling in the dark. 
I might have looked — through many an anxious day, 

I did not see, and I could only hark. 

(42) 



Then came the steady pattering of the rain : 

The dreary, dismal dripping of the eaves. 
I half forgot my weariness and pain, 

Watching the rain beat down upon the leaves. 
I saw two empty nests from where I stood ; 

The fluttering broods had flown, I knew not where. 
But well I knew, in some sweet summer Vv^ood, 

They'd build their nests for other broods as fair. 

I heard the branches clashing in the wind ; 

The clouds marched by, like sullen armies led ; 
Belated birds, with summer homes to And, 

With outstretched necks, flew screaming overhead. 
One, falling back, flev/ slower than the rest. 

Or so I thought, and whispered through the pane : 
"Poor tired bird, perhaps 3'ou've done your best, 

I wonder if you can catch up again !" 

Then came the long dull stretch of sunless days. 

With nights of wailing v/ind, and sleet and snow : 
The chilly comfort of a half-grudged blaze 

That lighted restless pacings to and fro. 
I knew just where the drifts were being piled, 

Just how the snow would bend the old pine bough, 
The open space looked desolate and wild, — 

Its cross-cut pathways must be hidden now ! 



(43) 



To-night the driving snow has turned to sleet, 

I hear it clicking sharp against the pane. 
To me it seems hke tiny hearts that beat 

And dash their httle Hves out all in vain. 
Once I had joyed to battle such a storm, 

But now I shiver, sheltered from the cold ; 
God grant all living things are safe and warm, 

'Tis bitter for the very poor, and old. 

I know that spring is somewhere on the way, 

To bring the prisoned stream.s their glad reprieves- 
No year has ever missed its budding May, 

But every year some trees must miss their leaves. 
The birds will soon be coming back again. 

To sing among the branches blossom-set ; 
But now the sleet is beating at the pane. 

The wild wind wails : " It is not summer yet I " 



AN INTERVAL. 

Now there comes, as a calm after tempest, 
A hush o'er my spirit's unrest, — 

A suspense in the strife and the seeking, 
A pause in the ardor of quest, 

And I lean on that pillar of comfort 
Set deep in my faith — " It is best I " 

(44) 



It is still — the high throbbings of fever 

Subside into marvellous ease ; 
The unsatisfied hunger and thirsting 

Need naught to assuage or appease ; 
For I've tasted of those mingled waters 

Which restore the soul in disease. 

In the world where vain self-emulation 
Makes poor human rivalries rife, 

It is only high noon with the victors 
Still flushed with the fever of strife, 

While I sit in the dim place where shadows 
Are cast by the sorrows of life. 

To the dreams born of earthly ambitions, 

I say farev/ell words of release, 
And vv^ithdraw to the soul's quiet cloister, 

Where pain has passed on into peace ; 
Where the struggles bet^veen flesh and spirit 

Grow fewer, and finally cease. 

Where the high tides of Life's pulsing passion 
Flow back into slumberous calms, — 

Where the trumpet-like voices of triumph 
Fall faintly, and sink into psalms. 

Where the soul rests as safely and sweetly 
As a babe, rocked gently in arms. 



(45) 



OUR GOD IS LOPvD OF THE HARVEST, 

He holds in His hand the waters, 
Both the great rain and the small, 

And when He sees His land has needy 
He opens His hand to all. 

The mighty oak in the forest, 

With its lofty boughs in air, 
And the sand-wort by the roadside, 

Are under the same great care. 

Tlie shrunken rill in the meadow, 

Asleep far below its banks, 
Now rises with the early rain, 

And in running, gives God thanks. 

The springs in the woody copses 
Where the timid wild things drink, 

Feel the in-rush of the waters 
And bubble above their brink. 

In the night, while men are sleeping, 
Their crops and their cares forgot, 

God remembers alike, broad acres, 
And the scanty unhedged plot. 

He thinks of the widow's garden 
She planted with patient care^ 

And sends her a mighty helper 
As an answer to her prayer. 

(46) 



He knew the toil and weariness, 
And He knew the stress and need, 

And v/hile she slept He remembered 
And watered the sprouting seed. 

She rises again rejoicing. 

Forgetting her doubts and fears, 
And praises God with grateful heart 

When the tender shoot appears. 

Our God, He is strong and mighty, 
Yet tenderly loves His own, 

And we who toil for daily bread 
Toil not in the dark alone. 

Our God is Lord of the harvest, 
He cares for the earth He trod ; 

And all who toil with grateful hearts, 
Toil in company with God. 



THE WORK IN HAND. 

The work in hand demands our earnest thought — 
Mistakes made in some by-gone year or day, 

Have here no place, and half the ills they wrought 
To-day's brave smile may help to shine away. 

(47) 



The work in hand 1 To do, to toil, to bear — 
This is tlie hour may earn a Hfe's success ; 

With honest effort joined to earnest prayer, 

Life may be crowned with conscious usefulness. 

The work in hand ! Have done with vain regret ! 

We cannot serve with doubting, backward gaze, 
The work in hand requires us to forget 

The fauhs and failures of our yesterdays. 

The work in hand ! Whatever may have been, 
Though seven times seventy failures lie behind , 

Be done with them — cut every link between 
Them, and the work in hand or mind. 

We ask no man to tell us of his past ; 

Not ours to estimate, or understand; 
We ask him not his future to forecast, 

And only judge him by the work in hand. 

We take him for the man he is to-day. 

With this new morning shining in his face ; 

The work he has in hand, who dare gainsay ? 
His past is dead ; his future hath not place. 

And when intixnched within our given field, 

By present duties loyally we stand ; 
To past mistakes may every lip be sealed, 

In honor of the work we have ill hand. 



(48) 



A REST REMAINETH. 

The world is very beautiful 1 
Look out, sad soul, and see 1 

5elo\v — the earth in beauty lies; 

Above the blue dome of the skies, 

Where night looks thro' her starry eyes- 

The world is very beautiful 1 
And it was made for thee. 

Life's harmonies are very sweet : 

Harken, sad soul, and hear ! 
From seeming discord of thy part, 
In keeping with the World's great heart, 
The sweetest symphonies may start, 
And in a grand finale meet 1 
Sad one, attune thine earl 

God's promises are very sure 1 
Believe, sad soul, and know, 
For Eden lost and mortals pained, 
A Saviour's merit hath obtained, 
And man's lost Paradise regained — 
God's sacred promise must endure — 
Thou art not doomed to woe ! 
(49) 



Life's purposes are very plain ; 

Attend, O Soul, and learn 
Life's purpos.e is eternal good ; 
Thy part, just Christian brotherhood ; 
The Father's will, thy drink and food; 
His hardest lesson, learned in pain, 

Will bring thee sweet return. 

Heayen's rest is very, very sweet 1 

Look up, sad soul, and see; 
A moment's toil canst thou not bide 
Outside the door now closed to hide 
Thy rest preparing, just inside ? 
Heaven's rest is perfect and complete, 
And it remains for thee ! 



THIS SPRING. 

I've never seen spring in the same gown twice ; 

This year her bonnet is brighter blue, 
And the robe she wraps about herself, 

It never was of such tender hue. 

Her breath smells sweeter of spruce and pine. 
Her step sinks deeper in velvet moss. 

And the river banks reach out to her, 
To kiss her feet as she steps across. 

(50) 



Her smile is brighter on field and hill — • 
More fragrant the pinks she tosses down, 

And richer the gold the willov/s bring 
To hang in fringes along her gown. 

Her pulse beats stronger in bough and bud, 
Her charms unfold with more witching grace, 

A happier light is in her glance, 
And a warmer flush is on her face. 

The earth rejoices in gladder green. 
To farther edges the fields respond ; 

Life stirs more swiftly in root and stem. 
And fairer ferns burst their tender frond. 

The birds sing louder their songs of praise. 
They mate and build with a keener zest ; 

They were never quite so mad with joy 

When they were building their last year's nest. 

" Last spring," say you v/ith a fond regret? 

To its faded flowers do you still cling ? 
Why, the sweetness of all the springs gone by. 

And of those to come, is in this spring. 



(51) 



WHEN SLEEP OVERTAKES. 

When sleep overtakes my tired spirit at last, 

With my day's work, perhaps, but half done ; 
And I think to rest for a little, may be, 

And yet finish my work with the sun ; 
While he, all unheeded, has kept on his way. 

Till he sinks out of sight down the west. 
And one ruddy beam, through a shutter half closed 

Shines in here on my unbroken rest ; 
Then you who are waking and find me asleep, 

Fold my work, please, and lay it aside. 
And all that is ill, or imperfectly done. 

Let your sweet Christian charity hide. 
The spirit was willing, the more so, perhaps. 

When the hands were most awkward and weak, 
The heart no less loving and loyal, believe, 

Though the lips were so hasty to speak. 
Perhaps I had meant to ask pardon, you know. 

With the stitch I had meant to set right, 
When something — what was it? a shadow? who knows? 

Came between the white seam and my sight. 
But you will forgive for your own frailties' sake 

And judge one with kindness whom sleep overtakes. 



(52) 



If after a little, should any come in 
And still see my particular chair, 
Turning softly to you to question of her 

They had been used to find sitting there, 
Say not, O my friends, say not then " She is dead 1 " 

Rather say with a sm.ile — for why weep ? — 
" Going out for awhile, we left her at work, 

And on coming, we found her asleep." 
Fret not if I leave you no message or word. 

For the morning will make it all right ; 
So often I've said with a story half told, 

" Oh, I'm too tired to tell it to-night ! " 
And when you so kindly have said, "Then we'll wait, 

In the morning will do just as well," 
I've fallen asleep, with so much in my heart 

I have wanted to ask and to tell ! 
The sleep will seem longer a little to you, 

But I'd grovv^n over-tired, you see ; 
And so while I rest, go right on v/ith your work. 

While you say to yourselves, " It may be 
She had much to tell, but we'll wait till she wakes, 
One must be so weary whom sleep overtakes ! " 



(5S) 



IN THE CHRYSALIS. 

I'm starved for sunshine, and it is so dark; 

Where is the light ? Canst tell me, any one. 
What road they take who journey through the night 

Out into open day, where shines the sun ? 

I want more room ! I'm choked in this scant air. 

Oh, w^here is space ? Does anybody know 
Where I could go to stretch myself awhile ? 

These narrow limits cramp and hurt me so. 

Patience ! for look, see yonder butterfly ! 

An hour ago 'twas one of life's pent things ; 
Now it has light, room, air and liberty — 

So prisoned souls at last shall find their wmgs 1 



STARS OF FAITH. 

My faith in friendship is a glowing star ; 

And only second in its magnitude 
To one that ever shines beyond the bar, 

Which is my faith in God, that He is good. 

My faith in friendship follows that above, 
Gaining in brilliancy as it ascends ; 

Its rays shed Joy, and Confidence, and Love, 
And in this three-fold light — behold my friends 

(54) 



THE OASIS. 

V/iTH longing thirst, who would not faint and die, 

But for one sure oasis in the life, 
Which keeps its green forever, though close by 

Sweep stinging desert sands of pain and strife ? 

Where suns go down on fire, and flame the west; 

And rise on fire, and fever ev'ry dawn ; 
While up and down go wand'rers seeking rest, 

The cheating mirage ever leading on, 

Until at last the v/eary footstep bends 
To this oasis, with its spreading palm; 

Its cooling spring, v/hose ciystal water lends 
Itself, to be the thirsty sufferer's balm. 

The world's great caravan halts with the cry, 

' ' Tell us of this oasis that ye know 1 
Where in the desert does this verdure lie. 

The palm, and fount which have refreshed ye so?" 

Stay, wand'rers, stay, from what far land or clime; 

Shade not thine eyes the desert way to scan ; 
God gives each thing a beauty in its time. — 

Eternity within the heart of man * 

Is the oasis in life's desert waste ; 

Christ is the fount whose living waters call 
To every traveller, " Hither come and taste ! " 

God's love the palm tree reaching over all. 

* Eccl. 3 : 11. ( ^b ) 

L.cfC. 



A SECRET. 

I'll tell it to the sunlight ; 

I'll repeat it to the winds, 
And to each nodding flower, 

Where a morning dew-drop snines. 

I'll tell it to the river — 
If it does not care to ken, 

It may just run it over, 
And so tell it back again. 

I'll tell it to the grasses 
In the meadow as I cross ; 

The violet shall hear it, 
Hiding in its bed of moss. 

Now listen while I tell it — 

I shall whisper veiy low, 
Lest some one chance to hear it 

Whom I would not have to know — 

I'm dead in love with Nature 1 
As she does not say me nay, 

I'm going to be her lover 
Yes, forever and for aye. 



(56) 



MY MINSTREL, 

'T WAS a sleek brown cricket that lay here dreaming 
In a cosy crack of the old stone hearth ; 

He sang in his sleep, and sang, to my seeming, 
The cheeriest, dreariest song on earth. 

For he sang of a smnmer dead and buried, 

With its grave heaped high all in red and gold, 

And he sang of the air by snow-flakes flurried, 
And of fireside cheer as the nights grow cold. 

He sang of his cousins, the grass-green hoppers, 
That died v/ith the fall of the aftermath ; 

And he sang of the ripe corn in the poppers, 
All snowy white from a fiery bath. 

He sang of the silence along the rivers 

Where the blue-jay screamed but a month ago ; 

And again, in thin shrilly pipes and quivers. 
Sang of icy chains that would check their flow. 

Quite under the spell of his variations, 
On the days gone by and the days to be, 

I gave myself up to my meditations, 

And the pictures which slowly came to me. 



I saw the World pass in a great procession : 

Youtli, Childhood, and Age with their grief and 
mirth ; 

The great drama of life in its progression, 
Was enacted here on my old stone hearth. 

I beheld the rise, and the fall, of peoples ; 

Heard the cry of war ; felt the battle shock ; 
And a clangor of bells from mystic steeples, 

Rang out with each chime of my mantle clock. 

Then I heard the clam^or and din of labor ; 

Saw the fields, once barren, yield their increase; 
Love was the language of neighbor to neighbor. 

For the land was filled with the light of Peace. 

Now the cricket's song came in drowsy measures, 
Piped betw^een long pauses, until it failed ; 

The pageant passed on with its vanished treasures — 
I opened my eyes, and the vision paled. 

And the fire was dead to the last gray ember ; 

The lamp had burned out, and the room was chill- 
It was just one o'clock, if I remember. 

When my minstrel ceased and the house was still. 



(58) 



A LITTLE WORLD APART. 

We accept the world's protection, 
We drink in its light and air, 

And love the true and beautiful 
All about us eveiy where. 

We joy in its loyal friendships. 
In the kinship of our kind, 

And in our social intercourse 
A mutual good we find. 

But when it comes to consciousness, 
And the deep things of the heart, 

We find, each lives his life alone, 
In a little v/orld apart ; 

Where the deed lives in the motive. 
And the thought wears no disguise, 

But comes before the steadfast gaze 
Of the soul's clear-seeing eyes. 

Where no subterfuge is given. 

Where Truth answers to its name. 

And holds by its own convictions 
Without bondage-fear of blame. 

And perhaps the final judgment. 
Given when all heart? are known, 

Will hang on the Soul's own record, 
In its little world alone, 

(59) 



LEAVES IN WINTER. 

What is the secret, the mysterious power 

By which the last lone leaves cling on, and on r 

They budded with their comrades in the spring, 
Now they are left, and their companions gone. 

Born of the sunshine and the south Vv^ind's breath, 
Cradled by Nature in her tenderest mood, 

How they must wonder at the icy blasts 

Which sweep unhindered through the naked wood 

They made a shelter once for happy birds, 
But long ago the happy birds took v/ing ; 

Why were they left mute playthings of the storm, 
Only to be lost sight of in the spring ? 

O pale lone leaves that cling the winter through, 
There is a reason for your being here — 

There is a reason why that we remain, 

When we are left of all that made life dear. 

Nor will we question that mysterious power 
By which the last lone ones are left to cling. 

We have a happy reason for our hope. 

That none will be lost sight of in the spring, 



(60) 



FROM THE GRASS. 

Bend low, sweet grasses, in the rain! 
Bend low, for when ye lift again 
Your little cycle will be run — 
Ye fall beneath to-morrow's sun I 

Across the field of bending grass, 
A kind of murmur seemed to pass, 
As if each stem still lower bent 
In gentle answer of assent : 

' ' We fall — and with to-morrow's sun 
Another cycle is begun ; 
Poor mortal, know'st thou not, to give 
The best of life, is how to live ? 

' ' The seed from v/hich we sprung and grew 
Fell, when the keen blade swiftly slew 
The last year's grass. In turn, we yield 
Like seed, to clothe anew the field. 

" These ripened stems, what would they here 

Left standing till another year ? 

We are, v*^e shall be, we have been — 

We die not, being gathered in, 

(61) 



'' Our life, within tlie seed concealed, 
Again will burst its shining shield ; 
Preserved, it holds itself in trust, 
And yet again will seek the dust. 

" Tell us, and do ye mortals die ? 
These noble forms which pass us by, 
Contain they not some hidden state 
Unclaimed by Death insatiate ? 

" Beneath us here, some of your kind 
Are sleeping. Will they never find 
A waking ? When they are laid low 
Is nothing left by which to grow ? " 

Sweet grasses in the rain bent low, 
We who remain so little know, 
But hold our lives in sacred trust, 
And so expectant seek the dust I 



NIGHT. 

Calm , mysterious , awe-inspiring Night 1 
Like some soft-sandaled queen among her flowers, 
Night treads the milky way, thro' sleep-locked hours, 

And rules a slumb'ring v/orld with gentle might ; 

The moon is new, and by its feeble light, 

(62) 



She dons the dusky mantle of her powers, 
Draws forth her tapers, hid in cloudy bowers, 

And at their touch, her myriad lamps ignite. 
Then her lone worshipers, with reverent awe. 

Leave Day's worn students, wearied with his speech, 
And one by one they silently withdraw, 

To learn the grander knowledge Night doth teach — ■ 
She points to heaven, and teaches of its law. 

And hints of mysteries beyond her reach. 
Her gentle hand swings back the gate of thought. 

As thro' the mind's dim portal she intrudes, 

And from its stifled chambers where they brood. 
Sets free the pent-up captives Day has caught. 
The student of the night is heaven-taught ! 

'Tis his to hear the music which preludes 

The birth of worlds, in heaven's solitudes, 
To catch transitions centuries have sought ; 
But Night grows jealous of her high domain ; 

Fearing the glance of bold, imperious Day, 
She stoops, and gath'ring up her dusky train, 

Hides in its folds the last pale star away. 
Her rapt, reluctant watchers turn again, 

And lo ! along the east the dawn is gray. 



(63) 



A PRAYER. 

O Strength, strip me of self, and set me free ! 

Touch Thou my bonds, and bid them fall away; 
Hold Thou the lips which would complain to Thee, 

And teach, instead, my spirit how to pray. 

O Love, give me a heart so like Thine own, 
That it may beat in unison with Thine ; 

Make it a temple for Thyself alone. 

Too long it has been filled with thoughts of mine. 

O Wisdom, teach me, I am all unlearned ; 

I do not know Thee, when I meet Thy face 
In discipline — my dim eyes being turned 

Upon myself, see not Thy glance of grace. 

O Sight, see for me. Be it night or day. 
Life is a maze through which I cannot see ; 

My feet grow more uncertain of the way — 
O never-failing Sight, see Thou for me ! 

God — Wisdom Thou art, Strength, Love, and Sight,; 
Grant me a little portion of each grace ; 

1 yield to Thee, do Thou what seemeth right, 

When Thou art done, let me behold Thy face ! 



(64) 



y- 



NOV 14 1900 



